


Fortuna Summers and the Wealth of Living

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Affection, Cunnilingus, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Multi, Nero/Kyrie/Nico/V, POV Multiple, Pegging, Polyamory, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: Summers in Fortuna are slower and softer now, calmer than any of them are used to yet, but they're learning. Wrapped around each other in the cool nights and dancing together in the warm sand, they'll learn together.
Relationships: Nico/V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Fortuna Summers and the Wealth of Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ariebearz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariebearz/gifts).



Summers in Fortuna are hot and slick, wet in the lungs and sweat on the skin, but she can't say it's uncomfortable. Nico's a southern girl through and true, she's no stranger to a little heat, but Fortuna's got a whole different kinda heat. Fortuna's the kinda place where it's easy to go slow and sleepy in the summertime. Where golden afternoons stretch into silver night times with a sweetness she's developing a taste for.

's only fitting that V comes back to them on the balmiest summer night Nico's ever had. When she can't stop twisting and turning and has to hang half out her window to get some relief. Real symbolic that he comes tip-tappinng down the street with his kitty cat and chatty chicken while Nico's only half sure she ain't dreaming. 

She spots him first, before Nero senses him or Kyrie hears him knocking on the door. Nico watches him stroll right out of the long, night shadows like he never left. Like she didn't see his skin flaking away and Nero didn't carry him to his end.

Tonight's balmy like that night, a long, hot day running into a longer, hotter night. Only, not like that night, Nico knows V ain't no dream. 

Ohh he looks like one. Spread out and sprawled in her bed, head down and ass up. But this's already better than the sweetest dream, cuz a dream wouldn't let her touch. A dream wouldn't let her slide her hand down the supple sweep of his spine, down-down to rest on his tatted up nape. Wouldn't be able to lean down, sink deeper-deeper into him in a dream either. 

"Nicoletta," is a whisper, a whine, a buzz under her hand as she bottoms out again. Nobody says her name quite like him, nobody ever has. 

Nero says it like a curse sometimes, spitting and snarling while she cackles at whatever she did. Sometimes he sighs " _Nico_ " into her throat and it shakes her bones with how much he's saying it.

" _Nico_ " is birdsong on Kyrie's tongue, warm and affectionate like Nico's still getting used to. Sometimes it's low and slow, breathed against her lips and tucked into her hair like a promise. 

V though. V murmurs " _Nicoletta_ " against her jaw like a spell, like she's magic. He groans it rough and fucked out like it's the only word he knows, the only prayer he needs.

"Please," he moans, turning and twisting as much as he can to glance her over his shoulder. Green eyes black, soft lips red, and making such a pretty picture. 

"Don't worry sugar," she coos at him, teases him. Squeezes with the hand still around his neck, cants her hips to hit just right, and watches those pretty, black eyes roll on back. 

The shudder that rips through him, that crashes through her, is delicious. The way he shivers 'n shakes but still pushes back-back, fucking himself on her strap. Oh he's a greedy bitch, that's for sure, but Nico considers herself a generous lady. Considers V more'n worth the effort. 

Of dragging her hips back and licking her lips as he whines low in his throat, lashes fluttering but never quite open. Of settling herself on her knees, a good, sturdy stance, and sliding her hands back onto his hips. Curling around those jutting bones, just lovely. 

"I'll take good care'a you," she purrs-promises, and snaps her hips forward. In one smooth, hard thrust. Fucking into him, fucking him into the bed, and clearing out that pretty head of his.

V'd come to her, shifty eyed and tight lipped. He'd sat at her desk and run a hand through his hair, had worried with his cane and said, " _I'd like you to fuck me quiet, Nicoletta,_ " in a voice two beats above a breath. He'd looked her in the eye and she'd stared right on back, " _I think I can handle that._ "

And she wonders, is she _handling_ that? 

Cuz V, pretty boy V, is trembling on her bed. Knees up, but just barely, trembling with every drawn out drag and thrust. Nico expects 'em to give out any second, like his arms did whens he finally slid her cock into him, after working him open with her fingers. After listening to all those half-bit back whines and whimpers and smirking at his twitching dick, teasing just the tip to be a lil mean.

Or maybe they won't, maybe he'll keep rocking back on her, not quite meeting every snap of her hips but he's trying, oh he's trying. And ain't that just the sweetest thing? The fumbling desperation of him here, the vulnerability he gives her. Pretty boy V's giving her so much, mouthing her name when his voice fails, fisting his hands in her pillow til she knows she'll never get his smell out. 

Nah, she's gonna be here a week later, a month later, a year later, and she'll remember the glow of his skin under the lamplight. She'll lay her head down and breathe in the feeling of him rocking against her, out of time but doing just fine. Remember the smell of him, laced with sweat and musk and sex, real in a way that she'll never forget. 

"Ain't you the prettiest thing?" she sighs, uncurling one hand to stroke his back. 

"Ain't you just gorgeous?" she whispers, reaching around the dip of his waist to the place where his cock's bobbing against his stomach. 

She feels the punched out lil noise he makes, more'n she hears it. Against her knuckles where they're brushing up against his belly as she wraps her hand around him. And just holds him, just there. To feel the warmth of his cock, the slick heft and slide of it as she doesn't miss a beat and keeps fucking him. 

He twitches every time she bottoms out and he jumps when the steady thump of her hips, her _cock_ , fucks his dick into her hand. A hand that’s warm and wet with pre and lube, a hand that’s holding just tight enough to feel but loose enough to move. He’s just about wrecked, just a lovely lil mess, and Nico moans with the feel of it. Of him.

She’s fucked her fair share of people. Made a name for herself back home, then cross country, and then a few motels on the way to Fortuna, Nico knows how to fuck, but V. Well V’s just something special, ain’t he? He’s got a whole life’s worth of memories in his head and none of it in his bones, and it’s just _fascinating_. 

The way he can eat her out like a professional, make her legs shake and heart ache, then not know how to give a real, proper kiss. Something that ain’t shy, one that’s sweet ‘n filthy.

Right now’s a little bit like that. The deep-down arch of his back and the tremble in his thighs, well that’s instinct. Comes to him so natural and easy. The way he grinds back against the strap, and presses just the perfect amount of pressure for her; he’s a fuckin prodigy.

“Look at you go, pretty boy,” she coos, tangling her fingers in his hair, getting herself a nice handful of wire and silk. Thin enough to cut, soft enough to soothe, V’s hair feels perfect balled up in her fist and his half-broke moan sounds beautiful in her ears. 

Ohh he’s close, she knows he is. Getting sloppy, getting desperate, but keeping his cool just a little longer. Waiting for the word, waitin’ for his permission, like a good boy. 

And Nico strings him along just a few minutes more, because she’s far from a good girl and she likes to see him work. Hear those broken moans pitching up, feel ‘em against her palm where she’s holding him tight. And, of course, get to stroke him teasing and taunting with the mess he’s making of himself. Nothing better than that. 

A night together to explore, nice and cool too with the windows open and the streetlight flooding in. She told him it was so she could hear Nero come in, but he knows it’s cuz she wanted to tease him a lil more, see if he could keep quiet. At the start he was biting his knuckles, gnawing them bloody, now he’s grunting into the pillows and leaking onto the sheets. 

“D’you wanna cum, sugar?” she asks him, nonchalant and conversational, same as ever. Cuz she’s a tease an’ a half and she’s damn used to people calling her out on it, snarling to get a move on, whining to quit it, always dancing around what they want. 

V, of course, ain’t like that. V, the pretty boy demon toy, turns his head in her grip and shoots her a green eyed look, half-lidded and hazy. 

“Yes, please,” he moans, high and breathy, “grant me that pleasure, sweet Tygre.” 

And well, what’s a gal supposed to _say_ to that? Other’n yes. Yes a’course sugar, I’ll give you the moon if you ask. Cept Nico doesn’t say anything as sappy as all that, and V’d never ask for something _that_ ridiculous. Nah, he’s more the type to ask for her affection, her _attention_ , and ask to cum without really askin’.

He doesn’t ask so she doesn’t answer but she does change the tilt of her hips, makes sure to nail him _just_ right. She doesn’t say a word but who needs those when she can just let go of his cock and drag him up-up onto his knees and into a kiss instead? One that’s sloppy and filthy and just the way she fuckin likes it. 

When V cums for her, it’s a garbled noise in her mouth, buzzing against her tongue. It’s a whole body shudder n’ shake that she feels from the top of her head to the tip of her toes; through the strap pressed up against her, against the tits crushed against his back. 

“Good boy, ain’t you? Such a good boy,” falls out of her mouth as he grinds against nothing, wringing out every drop. She whispers it in kisses that scatter across his cheeks, murmurs it against the line of his jaw and stretch of his throat. Sewing them into his skin like her own little contract.

And she does that while his heart races out of his chest, while he pants ragged and raw trying to catch his breath. And if there’s something fragile about those seconds, that golden darkness filled up with just the two of them, then neither of them mention it. It ain’t something that needs saying. 

“How we doing, sugar?” she mutters into his hair after the moment’s gone, when words have a place again. 

Her heart’s racing and his is too, but it ain’t the breakneck, racehorse pace it was before. And whatever frantic, frenetic thing was in V’s head is just about settled, she can already see it in the slump of his shoulders. 

“Thank you,” V whispers, and she smiles. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, and lifts her hand to his lips. There’s something fragile about the way he brushes a kiss across her knuckles too, something they don’t need to say, but it’s not as delicate. She laughs, and it’s loud in the quiet but it ain’t intrusive. 

V smiles against her hand and kisses each of her fingers in turn, then her palm, and wrist. 

“Alright Mr Romantic, let’s get you cleaned up,” she snickers, and starts to shift, but he holds her. Grip loose but there, insistent. 

“What? Want a round 2 already, pretty boy?” she jokes, mostly because she knows he’s too wrung out from round 1. Skinny as a rail but V’s got stamina for days, she blames the demon magic holding him together.

“Let me take care of you in turn, Nicoletta.”

Is probably the last thing she expect to hear and the first thing she should because of course. Of course. 

And really, what’s a gal supposed to say to that?

-0-0-0-

There’s so much about this new life that he grows to love, in all it’s mundanity and surreality. As a split soul, V never thought he would have early mornings with a woman of the faith, one as delicate and beautiful as he remembered Eva to be. As a lone fighter in the grave of his childhood, V could never hope to have a ~~son brother~~ **_Nero_ ** at his back and fighting through the filth.

When they first met, crashing-smashing-chaotic as it was, V never would have dreamed Nicoletta Goldstein could be something so intoxicating. He feels drunk on her, high on her, hazy and dazed with the taste-touch- _feel_ of her. 

Nicoletta, his Tygre, is something he never would have wanted for himself, but here he is, here he has her. Grinding against his face, grounding him in this here and now, fucking his head quiet. 

All he hears is her soft breath and giddy laughter ~~not the scream of himself and the damned~~. All he can feel is the weight of her resting on him, the slick of her against his mouth, ~~not the burn of death or the cage of armor~~. There is nothing but the taste of Nicoletta on his tongue and the give of her thighs under his hands. 

He is nothing but a thing to be used, but used by such a creature, such a lover that he _wants_ to give more. He moans when Nico’s fingers tangle in his hair ~~instead of seethe~~ and leans into her touch, into her warmth. She holds him where she wants him, perfectly and with barely any force, holds him there and he’s happy to stay. 

“Good boy,” falls from her lips like honey, slow and sweet and impossibly rich. Smearing across his heart and dripping into his soul, filling him up-up-up in a way he cannot describe. So much and so true and so exactly what he needs. 

He laps at her instinctively, from slit to clit with the exact amount of pressure she enjoys. He moans for her, _purrs_ for her, and lets himself fall into this act of service. Where he doesn’t have to think about...Vergil, where he can focus on Nicoletta and what she asks of V... _him_.

Nicoletta is nothing like the woman Vergil barely remembered. Nicoletta is bold and vivacious, she’s musk and sweet on his tongue, sweat and sweet in his nose. She rides his face like she fucked his ass, with a steady pace he just has to follow. Not think about, not debate, just follow. 

When she grinds down, he sucks on her, when she slides along his tongue, he dips into her. When she slips her hand free of his hair to grope at her own lovely breasts, when she starts to flutter-squeeze-sigh above-around-for him, V retrieves a hand from her thigh. 

Just the one, because it’s all he needs, two fingers to slide between her wet folds and into her sweet heat. Two fingers to spread her wide and lick between, steady and gentle, working her closer and closer. Two fingers to slide in deeper, to stroke and pet at the place that makes her thighs clamp around his head. 

So there’s nothing but the softness of her, the sound of her heartbeat and nothing else. Not the praise still slipping off her tongue, nor the cacophony burning in his brain. Just the life of her, just the real and here of her.

Nicoletta cums for him, makes a mess of him, and he cannot think of anything sweeter. The taste of her on his tongue, dripping down his chin, the clench and flutter of her as he retrieves his fingers. He laps at his hand while she shudders, cleans what he can just to have more. 

But, when she finally kneels up and off of him, finally looks down, he knows he’s still a mess of slick and cum. He can see it in the glimmer of those eyes, the hungry edge there, the prowling Tyger. She’s still panting, still unsteady on her high, but she’s ready to swallow him whole.

It’s so much, more than he ever thought, and her sharp eyed stare cuts right through the blur of his brain. Pins him to the bed and makes him breathe.

As she climbs off of the bed and gets the wet rags she had waiting. As she wipes down her slick thighs and cleans his bruise-red mouth. As she puts away their play and gets out the lightest sheets they have, threadbare and holding by a prayer. Thrown across their too hot bodies for decency and nothing else.

So they can keep the window open. So they have something to twine together under. A sheet to lay under with his Tyger’s arm possessive across his chest and leg hooked over his hip. A comfort to quiet his head long enough for his tired body to sleep. 

* * *

Nico’s not sure who asks, if it’s Nero or Kyrie or one of the kids, but somebody mentions the beach on one of those sweltering summer days. And Kyrie says it’d be a good idea and Nero grumbles about burning and the kids are all for it, but V, V just blinks. V looks at them and cocks his head and frowns. 

“What’s wrong Shakespeare? Never had a beach day?” Nero teases in the silence...that…stretches...out...too...long.

“You never been to the beach?!”

“Wait, seriously? Kyrie, we gotta fix that!”

Nico squawks and Nero barks and then the kids start shouting and it’s a whole chaotic _mess_. Because of course chatty chickadee has to get in on the fun and start yapping, and V tries to make his excuses, and the lovebirds start planning immediately. 

Takes about an hour for things to settle back down and V to tell ‘em that Eva never had the chance to and Nelo Angelo weren’t exactly in the best position for a beach day. Which sets off a whole nother round of bitching and shouting but it’s the righteous kind about tellin’ the universe to fuck off.

In the end they _have_ to go, Nero’s already dead set and Kyrie’s not gonna let something like that stand, and the kids’ll take any excuse for a beach day. V gets to say that he’d love the experience somewhere in all the mess and that’s that. They’re packing up within the week and Nico’s driving them straight for the coast, which is four hours away sure, but it ain’t boring. 

A full van’s a damn sight more lively than it is when it’s only her and Nero. Kyrie keeps everybody watered and fed with juice boxes and sandwiches, even has a can of monster for Nico. Nero manages to get the stick out his ass with the family around, manages to play with the kids and crack jokes with V and _enjoy_ himself for once. And Nico gets a rotating cast of passengers, Nero sometimes and V others, Kyrie once or twice to check in on her and make sure she’s doing good. 

Somebody gets the jukebox going and there’s terrible singing on the way, somebody else starts up a game of Eye Spy, like they’re really some kinda family on a outing. And sure, some of the spottings is shit like _‘I spy the Saviour!’_ and the kids really just mean the sun, but it’s a comfortable background chatter to keep her limber through the drive. 

Though the four hours ain’t nothing when they finally spot the water out in the distance. When V’s sitting up front with her and she hears him take the softest little breath and say, “The destruction of the sword could never compare to the eternity of the dazzling sea.”

Which maybe makes everything worth it. The fight through Redgrave, the year of dealing with the fallout of Nero’s crazy ass family, a four hour drive. All of it’s worth it to hear V sound so reverent and free, 

There’s still a half hour until they actually hit the sand but maybe Nico cuts it down to twenty. Maybe Kyrie keeps the kids in the back and Nero keeps them entertained so V can have his quiet moment of staring in wonder at something as simple as _the sea_. Nico tells herself it’s just the salt spray in the air that stings her eyes, ‘s all it is, nothing else. 

Nothing to do with things they all lost and the few things they got back. Nah, it’s just the salt. 

A salt that gets thicker and slower the closer they get, salt that creeps into her bones and slows her right on down. With a cool breeze that puts the ac to shame and a kinda calm that she’s missed. And damn she’s missed the beach.

Everybody’s tumbling out nearly before she hits a stop, Nero falling out the side panel, V leaping out the passenger, and the kiddos held back by Kyrie just long enough for the engine to cut. Then the kiddos are gone too, whooping and hollering and racing straight for the sea.

“Thank you for driving us,” Kyrie says as they get out together, locking up and lugging out the cooler. And the beach chairs, and the bags packed with all the odds ‘n ends a trip like this brings. 

“Aw it was nothing, I wanted to come myself,” Nico laughs, brushing it off, like she always brushes off Kyrie’s thanks. That girl’s just too genuine, for the simplest things sometimes, makes her...well uncomfortable might be the word. 

The warm in her gut sure ain’t comfortable but Nico doesn’t hate it. Naw, she doesn’t think she could ever hate a thing Kyrie did, the girl was a angel, too good for her own good, and Nico...appreciates that. She certainly sees what Nero loves if nothing else. 

“And to show V?” Kyrie teases as they crunch onto the sand, feet dipping down and slipping. 

The sand’s golden between her toes, sparkling under the mid-afternoon sun, and Nico thinks of brushing _that_ off too. The boys are all off in the surf already, shirts abandoned on the shore just beyond the surf. Carlo’s up on Nero’s shoulders and Griffon is carrying V up-up for a cannonball, and the ocean’s the most perfect sapphire blue.

They all look like something out of a hallmark movie, all the kids splashing around, the guys jackassing as always, and the girls on the shore. Nico knows she’ll be heading out to join in a second and Kyle might come back to keep Kyrie happy, but then they’ll still be a movie. The big happy family with the parents and kids and aunts and uncles, all having the perfect day. 

This ain’t nothing like Nico ever had growing up, nothing like Nero or Kyrie got, definitely nothing V had a chance for. And it’s something she can be jaded about, or it’s something she can be happy to have. 

“Yeah, V too,” she sighs, then laughs and shares one of those soft little smiles with Kyrie. 

And maybe her too. And Nero. Nico’s not too sure, but she sure does hope. 

-0-0-0-

Kyrie watches from the shore as her family plays, content to sit in the shade and gaze out at the blue-blue unending blue. There’s a meditative quality to it, one of the few things she’s missed about the church, the deep contemplation of prayer had always been a refuge. From studying to do right by the word of His Holiness to keeping her family proud and adhering to the rules of their lives. 

She had never agreed with some of those rules, never could abide by others, but prayer to the Saviour was something she had enjoyed. Without restriction, without consideration, prayer had been her connection to a Lord she so loved. And now, after all she’d known has crumbled and everything she’s made is thriving, prayer is still something she indulges in.

Differently now, watching her family and the clear blue sky now, but still done. 

And how lovely to have her family with her for it? Not in a quiet room by her lone self but on a sprawling beach filled with other families and so much joy. Kyle and Julio make friends with a pair of sisters and join them in making sandcastles. Nero and V take turns diving from higher and higher heights, towed along by Griffon, and gather their own little crowd. 

Nico comes and goes, a chat here, a joke there, bringing Carlo for a nap or a snack. Dragging Nero by the ear for more sunscreen or sitting V under the umbrellas after a particularly high dive. 

“I am perfectly fine,” V tells her, too loud and surreptitiously tapping at his ear. And she smiles, but doesn’t let him back into the fun until he’s speaking at a regular volume again. 

Julio and Kyle wander back when the sun starts to set and their new friends have to leave. Nico comes just as dinner’s being made, and she offers to start up the campfire, eager to try one of her newest inventions. Nero and V come with Carlo swinging between them, hair still dripping and burnt across their noses, but grinning together. 

Dinner is chaos, as it ever is, and that’s a comfort.

“Carlo no, you balance it like this,” Nero tells the little boy, helping him hold his plate. 

“And basically all you gotta do is get the ignition right,” Nico explains, gesturing at their roaring campfire with her hotdog. Nearly losing it to a wild gesticulation, but only nearly and still gets laughed at by the boys. 

“I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide/Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied,” V quotes for everyone in a smooth, clear voice that is so suited to quoting. He could have been a preacher of their Order, could have read their holy word, but Kyrie prefers this.

She likes a life of softer clothes and a smiling Nero, a life where her boys can laugh and joke without watching their words for blasphemy. The Saviour was never what Sanctus told them, never meant to be what Sanctus made him, and Kyrie much prefers the reality. Sparda’s legacy is worth so much more now.

The sun sinks down-down as they eat. Burning gold then blazing bronze and leaves a soft black behind, one that dots with stars and prickles with the fire. The warmth of the day soothes into the cool of the night as they drag out the tents and sleeping bags, Nero pitching them while Kyrie gets the boys changed. Nico and V tell stories while the tents go up, keeping the kids drowsing attention on them. 

V tells a story about a circus, a magical circus like nothing no one’s ever seen that only comes in red, silver, black and white. He tells them about a place where the statues come to life and the performers are just a step below normal. Acrobats who almost fly, a contortionist with a spine like a snake, two twins with the most charming smiles.

Nico talks them through making a bazooka while Nero hands out marshmallows and crackers. There’s so much technical detail to it, so many terms most of them don’t understand, but nobody stops her, or even glazes over. No no, they gravitate to her, leaning in as she lectures on cocking mechanisms and barrel widths.

Nicoletta’s sat on a salt-worn log Nero found along the beach, one he dragged over to their fire and rests higher than the chairs, so once she’s taller. Towering in the red-slash firelight, gigantic in her passion; Nico could have been a preacher too. She could have moved warriors to her cause and men to their knees, she could have roused war.

But instead she’s here. Instead she’s preaching by firelight and singing the sole gospel she’ll ever hold to. 

Kyrie listens and listens. To Nico, to V, and knows this is love. A different love to the warm gold of what she has for Nero, but for all the difference between candle flame and blacksmith’s forge the warmth stays the same. It jumps and spits, it burns and dims, but the fire never dies. 

And as the children drop off to sleep, one by one, carried in by Nero or V, Kyrie lets herself love. Like the Order wouldn’t have wanted and like she’s fully able to do now. 

She leaves her chair to sit with Nico, leaning against a woman made of steel and flame. There’s not a drop or a trip in Nicoletta’s explanations as they shift, melt into the soft spaces of each other. Kyrie catches up one of Nico’s hands and traces the ink sewn there, Nico hefts one of Kyrie’s legs over her own thigh and strokes light and slow. And still she talks. 

While Nero packs up the chairs and V brings out a guitar, one Kyrie’s only seen a few times. Only late at night, only when they were alone, and she thinks it’s a moment of baited breath. A moment of waiting on the edge and fluttering hope, or that it should be, but all she can feel is contented calm. 

As Nico takes her guitar and Nero sits beside her, V settling at Kyrie’s side all cool skin and slow breaths. They chatter, Nero and Nico and V, while Nico tunes her guitar, tightening the strings and testing the chords to her satisfaction. 

When she starts playing, it’s shaky from lack of practice but Kyrie caresses the arm she’s leaning against, whispers how nice it already sounds and smiles as the song picks up. One that she’s heard on the radio, played over and over, a romantic thing from a movie she’s never seen. A movie that couldn’t deserve a song so beautiful, she’s sure.

“I’ve seen the world, done it all, had my cake now,” Nico hums nearly under her breath. 

“Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel-Air now,” Kyrie picks up for her, giggling as Nico blushes. They’ve sang and played together before, so late at night when the house was silent, when Nero was gone and they’d stay up waiting. 

Out on the beach and under the stars, sat on a log and bracketed by their boys is different than sitting together in her bedroom. Different to quiet comfort in the dark, but comfort stays the same no matter the volume and no matter the audience.

“Hot summer nights, mid July, when you and I were forever wild,” Kyrie keeps singing and Nico keeps playing, and the waves crash in tune behind them. 

“Will you still love me?” And Nero jumps to his feet, throwing sand in the fire as he dances around it. 

“When I’m no longer young and beautiful?” As Nero bows over extended hand, smirking at V as he does. Offering a dance to V whose blush Kyrie can feel along her arm. Rushing from his cheeks and flushing down his chest.

“Will you still love me?”

V gets to his feet with less wild energy but takes Nero’s hand and lets Nero set their pace of across the shore. Steps long and elegant, moving together with such ease, dancing together like they’ve never done anything else. 

“When I got nothing but my aching soul?”

-0-0-0-

He’s drifting away as Nico plays. Something soft and gentle, something that matches the wash and pull of the water at their feet. Leaning against Shadow, eyes closed and content, he could certainly sleep right there. Nevermind the sand brushed in his hair or the uncomfortable wooden seat, V could sleep right here and get the sweetest sleep of his life, he’s sure. 

With Kyrie’s voice twining through songs he’s never heard, songs that make him think of old grandeur and ancient loves. Songs that stick in his throat and remind him of a world below-below, so far down, but she manages to find the best of those places. The power of them, the endurance of them. 

He could sleep and dream with Nero’s low laugh in his ears, a joy like he’d never experienced. V could fall away and know he was safe, because he’s surrounded by love. Remarkable.

“C’mon, your turn twinkle toes.” Comes low and slow, snaking under his dreaming thoughts. 

“Don’t blame me for your bruised feet.” Twinkles just above that, a silver crescent to his sky. 

“V, do you want to dance with me?” finally whispers to him, musical and right there. Genuine and brushing back his hair as he blinks awake, to Kyrie. 

...Kyrie.

V doesn’t know what to think of her sometimes, this woman that Nero loves, this woman that Nico adores. V doesn’t know where he fits with her, what they are to each other, but he takes her reaching hand just as he did Nero’s. Laces their fingers and relishes in the softness of her skin; she’s never fought with gun or sword, but the strength in her is impossible to miss. 

Not with the beaten bronze of her hair or the silver in her spine. She is ornate, meant to support, but not weak. Never weak. 

“No skipping out on family time honey,” Nico teases, but she’s already swaying herself. Tiny in Nero’s arms, smaller than Kyrie and short enough to let her head rest just over his heart. V knows she’s counting the slower-than-human beats. 

Same as he knows Nero’s sedate two-step is just for her, just for this. A late summer night, moonlit and dark. A night when the ocean runs silver and the sand glitters gold. A night where demons and rage and legacy don’t matter, when love is the only thing that could. 

The jukebox dragged out is playing a song V doesn’t know, something slow and brassy, a singer crooning about kisses and waiting. A song that makes his mind run on lost time and lost chances, the life Vergil and Dante could’ve had, the one Nero deserved. Then Kyrie tugs him closer and V goes. 

Lets her set his hands on her hips, smiles as she winds her arms around his shoulders and they sway together. One step, two, and back, a easy rhythm that’s nothing like dancing with Nero. Kyrie is settled, she’s calm, she tucks her head under his chin and she smells like ocean salt and lilies. 

And he hums along to the song he doesn’t know. And he exists. Listening to Nero and Nico laugh, listening to the beat of his own heart. 

There’s so much he has now, so much he can claim for himself and himself alone, but this moment is one he’s infinitely grateful to share. Even if he doesn’t know exactly where he and Kyrie stand, even if he’s fonder of participating in Nico’s sexual escapades. Even if it burns in his gut every time Nero acts so like the grandfather he never knew. 

V wouldn’t trade this, no never. Because Kyrie is still tucked under his chin, dancing with him to a new song now. Because Nico is a good friend, and an intelligent woman who is so much more than a carnal adventure. Because Nero deserves his legacy anyway he wants it. 

“You’re asleep on your feet,” V murmurs when another song quietly flips over. He isn’t sure which it is, the fourth or the fifth they’ve had, but maybe one too many for Kyrie. 

Her steps slowed by the end of the second, trailing after him, and now she’s barely swaying with him. And doesn’t answer beyond a quiet hum. 

He scarcely has to meet eyes with Nero really before he’s leaving Nico with a kiss and sweeping Kyrie into his arms. And Kyrie settles there easily, belongs there so perfectly. There’s nothing tired in the way Nero bounds over to the tents on silent feet, half-flying as he goes, but he does throw a quiet, “I’m turning in guys,” to them.

Then there’s just the croon of music and the glimmer of the moon and Nico coming close, slipping her arms around his waist without a word. And then they’re dancing too, barely swaying as she grins up at him, not minding when the song is something too fast for a quiet midnight. 

“So, how was your first ever beach day?” she asks, and he...he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Reaches up to trace the line of her jaw and rest his palm on her throat, over the bloom of a rose. 

How was it, she asked. To finally get something Eva’d never had the chance to give him, to spend a day in the water between worlds...no, to spend a day _playing_ in the smooth conduit of realms. How was it to dance by firelight, by moonlight, with people he loved and loved him in turn? 

V wouldn’t consider himself a poet, not by the measure of Blake or any master, but he knows the worth of words. He’s measured loyalty in lies and twisted intent with couplets, he’s whispered wishes into the crook of necks and mumbled them into kisses too. V knows how to use his words, but he doesn’t have any for what today feels. 

“It was...” he starts and trails, looking out at the dark-sparkled sea, then down to eyes so warmly brown.

“I felt loved and protected,” is what he ends up saying, all he ends up saying as their song ends but their dance stays turning. 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So the outline for this one was: Nico pegs V because it's what he deserves, and somehow melted into poly younger gen and slow dancing on the beach, which tbh was really great. We all need something soft sometimes. 
> 
> Find me on [tweeper](https://twitter.com/Darke_Eco_Freak) if you wanna chat about the kiddos, or reboot :3


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